


A Bad Taste

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes jealousy can make things difficult for the Trio</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Taste

When I was little, Fred and George offered me a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Obviously, I must have blocked out the memory of Fred changing my teddy bear into a giant sodding spider for a few of my childhood years or else I never would have accepted Bertie Bott’s from the likes of my twin brothers. Like a trusting git, I took a big handful out of the jar they put in front of my face and popped what had to have been about a dozen or so in my mouth.

See, Mum always had this little colour chart she’d use to find out what flavour each bean was and separate them. She’d put the disgusting flavours (dirt and sardines and the like) in a pan and send Percy outside with it to toss in the pigpen. Really, though, he’d head out back to the garden. Dad has always had a real fondness for the garden gnomes; he thought they were right hysterical. Somehow, and I don’t really want to ever find out _how_ , Dad discovered that his funny little gnomes had a hankering for Bertie Bott’s beans. Whenever Mum would sort a fresh bag and tell Percy to go feed the offending beans to the pigs, Dad would clear his throat and give Percy a look. Percy would nod and then head out like he was going toward the pigpens when really he would double around the back of the Burrow, sneak along the hedges, and set the pan down for the gnomes like it was some sort of bloody magnificent feast laid out in the Great Hall. While Percy was off doing that, Mum would put the good flavours (marmalade and lemon and such) in a jar and then let us pick out the colours we wanted.

I was so bloody daft to think that Fred and George would offer me the good bean jar. 

It didn’t take me long to learn not to ever take Bertie Bott’s beans from Fred and George ever again.

At first, my mouthful of beans didn’t taste off or awful or anything like that.

But then….

But then I started to chew and—oh MERLIN was it bloody awful! The worst damned thing I’d ever tasted! 

I must’ve looked incredibly stupid pulling faces, wretching, and jumping around. Fred and George doubled over laughing and I couldn’t even speak up to defend myself ’cos I had a mouthful of Bertie Bott’s Barmy Beans! 

BLEH!

That was the noise I made—BLEH—when I spit out a chewed up wad of beans right on Fred’s (formerly Charlie’s) trainers. And even though I’d gotten rid of my gobful of gross beans, I had the most horrendous taste in my mouth. It didn’t go away for _hours_. I thought that I would never ever have that disgusting of a taste left in my mouth again. 

I was wrong.

Merlin, was I wrong about that.

A mouthful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans can leave a bad taste in your mouth, true. But that dirt or vomit bean after-taste has abso-sodding-lutely nothing on how rotten jealousy tastes is your mouth. 

I’ve only really **truly** been jealous a few times in my life. 

Sure, growing up every now and again I’d be irritated that my classmates had new robes and I didn’t or that someone had ace Cannons seats, stuff like that. Very rarely, though, would I actually be **jealous** of someone. And in the rare instances that I was jealous? That someone would be one of my best friends in one way or another.

I reckon the worst I ever got jealousy-wise was during our fourth year at Hogwarts. I was such an utter prat; I dunno why Harry and Hermione didn’t just tell me to sod the hell off right then and there and be done with me for good! God knows I probably would have done it if I’d been in their place.

Fourth year, Ronald Bilius Weasley in the running for Git of the Year.

Heh. Not really, but I definitely could have been. 

Too much of a berk to figure out that I really had feelings for Hermione and ought to ask her to the Yule Ball straight away, I (and Harry, too!) waited until the last minute to speak up. Turns out she’d already gotten herself a date AND WOULDN’T TELL US WHO IT WAS. Well! Let her go with whoever she wants, then! That was my reasoning. Really, I was hacked off but I wasn’t about to let onto her that I was. Harry ended up managing to snag the Patil twins for our dates and that was all right. Padma was my date and that was all right, I suppose. She kept wanting to dance, though, and I was getting annoyed ’cos COULDN’T SHE SEE I WAS BUSY MAKING SURE THAT VICKY KRUM WASN’T STEPPING ON HERMIONE’S TOES OR TRYING TO GET IN A QUICK FEEL??? Honestly! I was bloody _glad_ she left to dance with some Beauxbatons git ’cos I was sodding busy clueing Hermione in on Viktor Krum’s true nature!

For a long time, I thought I was just being a good friend and looking out for Hermione so she wouldn’t get hurt. That’s why I pitched a wobbly over the whole Krum thing; he was older, from Durmstrang, and just… he was Krum! He couldn’t have really been interested in Hermione for gentlemanly reasons! 

It wasn’t until sixth year that I realised I’d been so cross over the whole thing ’cos I was in love with her.

So, yeah. Fourth year, git to Hermione.

I was also a pretty big git to Harry that year.

See, Dumbledore had put an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire so no one under seventeen could go put their name in it. Harry and I had joked about figuring some way to get around it but we never did anything about it.

So the next day when Harry’s name came out of the Goblet? I kind of lost my head. I thought he found a way to fool the Age Line without me and snuck about, dropping his name in the Goblet. I felt so incredibly left out and _angry_. Harry always had all the attention ’cos of who he is. Everyone knows his name, they all look up to him like he’s some sort of, I dunno, god, and I was just TIRED of it. I was tired of just being one of the Weasley kids, Harry’s sidekick, the one who can’t do anything particularly special while his best mate goes about butting heads with You-Know-Who and lives to tell about it while people clap and cheer.

Yeah.

I don’t really fancy walking down that little path on Memory Lane, so I’ll just reiterate that I was jealous and a git and leave it at that. 

I eventually got over it, Harry forgave me, and things were back to normal after a time.

That was nearly ten years ago.

A lot has changed since then.

For one thing, Hermione and I aren’t just friends anymore. We’re more than friends. 

We’re together.

For another, Hermione and Harry aren’t just friends anymore. They’re more than friends.

They’re together.

And for another thing, Harry and I aren’t just best mates anymore. We’re more than best mates.

We’re together.

And one last thing—Hermione and Harry and I aren’t just friends anymore. We’re more than friends.

We’re together.

We’re an us.

After we left Hogwarts, we bought a bit of land in Ottery St Catchpole just north of Stoatshead Hill and built a house on it. It was an absolutely brilliant spot of land—all green all the time (although I strongly suspect that Hermione has been casting some sort of Greening Charm she learned in a Herbology lecture Harry and I slept through) and with lots of tall trees edging the property. We’ve even got a tiny lake of our own! 

Sometimes when the weather’s quite nice, Harry will cook and we’ll have Mum and Dad over for dinner cos they’re only a stone’s throw away from our house. After the dishes are all cleared, we’ll head out to our lake and sit on the pier that Harry and I built the first summer we were in our house. Hermione and Mum will sit there with their skirts pulled up, dipping their toes in the water and talking about Ginny, Justin, and our nephew Cedric while Harry, Dad, and I have contests skipping stones. I always try to convince them that we ought to use a bunch of different charms to see what will help us achieve maximum skippage but Harry and Dad never want any of that. They always want to do things the Muggle way, telling me that I can’t use magic for everything and that sometimes Muggles know best and I ought to just _trust_ that. I know they only say that stuff to rile me up and I try not to let it get to me, but sometimes I just really want to use a bloody charm and I can’t help it if I get a bit huffy! On more than one occasion Dad, Harry, or even me has ended up in the lake after we get to arguing Muggle stone skipping versus wizard stone skipping. Most of the time it’s Mum or Hermione pushing us in; tired of the back and forth bickering. And once they push us in? They’d best be certain to back up bloody quick lest one of us grabs them by the ankles and drags them in with us as well!

It was during one of these days lazing out on our pier with Harry and Hermione, watching the sun set, that I noticed something I’d seen a bazillion times before but never really had taken _notice_ of before—Hermione’s hand fit perfectly inside of Harry’s.

Sure, I’d seen them holding hands before and I’d held her hand just as many times but, before then, I’d never _looked_. 

I didn’t even have to close my eyes to think about what her hand looked like in my own. My hand was much bigger than hers, broad around the heel of the palm and my fingers were a lot longer than hers. When I took her hand in mine, it was like my hand swallowed hers whole. Our fingers would entwine and I’d always be so careful not to squeeze too hard ’cos I never wanted to hurt her. Turning our hands over so I could press a kiss to her knuckles, I could always feel my eyes widen at the sight of how pink and tiny her hand looked in mine. It didn’t look like they should fit together, even though both she and I knew they did just fine. 

Whereas Hermione’s hand looked like it was swimming in mine, in Harry’s it looked like it was staying afloat all on its one. His hands were considerably smaller than mine, less long and broad all over. He also had callouses on his fingers and palm from flying too ruddy much sans gloves. Now, I didn’t much care whether Harry flew with gloves on or not ’cos I did the same thing whenever I’d take my old Cleansweep Eleven out back but Hermione always would lecture him and complain about how rough his hands were getting. Harry would grin that grin of his -- the one that always meant we were in for quite an evening -- at her and she’d huff and give up the lecturing almost instantly. Heh. It was better that way ’cos if she didn’t throw in the proverbial towel right then and there and let Harry get what he wanted, she (or me, when I wouldn’t drop things with him either) would be sure to be in for a long night—the kind of night where Harry would take great glee in driving her (or me!) mad for what would seem like hours before giving into to the pleading to stop teasing and take care of what he started. 

Anyway!

Hermione’s hand in Harry’s. Right.

That’s where I was.

Harry’s hand curled around Hermione’s just _so_ and they looked to be a perfect fit. 

It looked as if their hands were made to fit in one another’s.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, a sodding minnow was trying to nibble on my big toe as I sloshed my feet about in the water, and Harry and Hermione’s hands were made to fit in one another’s.

My mouth felt all dry while I was staring at the way their fingers threaded together and then suddenly there was a sour taste in my mouth. I swallowed hard a few times, thinking it would go away. Too much Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey with Hermione’s cutlets. That’s what I figured it was. At least, that’s what I told myself it was. 

Too much Firewhiskey.

A few weeks later that same taste rose up in my mouth and I knew something was wrong.

I hadn’t drunk any Firewhiskey that night.

In fact, I hadn’t had anything alcoholic to drink one ruddy bit, unless you count a small sip of Hermione’s wine I nicked while she wasn’t looking, too occupied with performing a Warming Charm on the bread Mum had sent over earlier to notice me doing that. And honestly, it isn’t like she had much of an opportunity to drink much of her wine ’cos Harry started giving the both of us that grin of his and we knew better than to sit there and eat our dinner instead of immediately tossing our napkins on the table and following him to the bedroom or whichever room he wanted us to join him in. That night it was the bedroom.

It was only a matter of minutes before a pile of clothes had formed on the floor and I was starting to feel very warm all over. Hermione’s hands were all over me, pushing me back onto the bed while Harry shifted her hair to the side and started to kiss the back of her neck. I could tell both by the way her eyes got really heavy-lidded and the noises coming from Harry that he was kissing and sucking on her skin, leaving his mark there. He liked to do that for some reason—lightly bite us and suck at our skin, leaving small purple marks that took a few days to fade away (we never charmed them away, not ever. We weren’t ashamed of being a Trio and we certainly were not ashamed of bearing the mark of Harry Potter on our bodies while we went to work or out to Diagon Alley to pick up necessities for the house.) 

While she blinked a few times, tossing her head back and raising her shoulders as she pressed back into Harry, her breasts pushed forward and I took the opportunity to lay my hands on her. One of my most favourite things in the world is to run my hands up and down Hermione’s skin. It’s so soft, just as soft as our infant nephew’s skin, only it smells womanly, like Hermione; definitely not like powder and that Cleansing Charm smell screams Cedric to me. Harry’s hands were sliding up and down her sides and she exhaled sharply, her chest heaving. I couldn’t take it one minute more; I had to touch her. While her own hands were rolling my nipples between her fingertips (something that drives me bloody mad, it does!), I placed my hands flat on her belly, slowly splaying out my fingers and inching upward. Up, up my hands went gliding over her smooth, heated skin until they reached her breasts, taking a handful each and beginning to knead. 

Things began to get a bit blurry right after that. We were all touching and kissing and moaning and I felt incredibly warm, like everything was slowing down and then speeding up in some sort of haze. You know the kind of haze you feel like you’re moving around in after one too many butterbeers or shots of Firewhiskey? That’s what this felt like, only tonnes better. 

My hands were on Hermione’s hips, pulling her down on top of me and then pushing her back onto Harry, all of us instinctively finding the rhythm that worked best, crying out and moving as one. I can remember when we first began to shag like this… Even then, when things should have been all legs and arms and elbows all awkward, we managed to fit together just fine. Of course, it never went quite as smoothly then as it does now. That’s perfectly natural, though, ’cos we’ve now been together for seven years as an us… and you’d think that it would have gotten better, wouldn’t you?

Red. 

I began to see everything in some bright red haze. I knew then that I was getting close and after Hermione began to shudder and collapse on top of me, I wrapped my arms around both her and Harry, drawing them closer against me as I buried my face in that soft curve of Hermione’s neck and emptied myself into her. Harry then moaned (and God I nearly thought I’d come again just from hearing him like that) and rocked his hips against Hermione one last time before he, too, followed us over the edge. 

Pressing a kiss against the side of Hermione’s neck, she arched her back and I could feel Harry’s hand snaking between Hermione and me, his fingers trailing down her body to touch her one last time. 

_Harryyyyyyyy_ , she had moaned.

And for some reason, I froze up.

I froze up and that taste welled up in my mouth.

They could feel me. They could and I knew it. 

Harry’s hand stilled between Hermione and me and she lifted her head up to stare down at me.

_Ron?_

I didn’t even know who said my name. 

It didn’t really matter, anyway. I had to get away.

I had to get away before I said or did something I’d completely regret.

Right quick I rolled Hermione and Harry onto their sides, sliding out of the bed and throwing my clothes on as quickly as I could. They asked me what was wrong, where was I going, that sort of thing but I couldn’t answer them. 

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t answer them because _I didn’t know_.

All I could do was tell them to stay there, that I’d be back later.

I didn’t come back until the next day around tea time.

Harry and Hermione were sitting there at our table, the food all laid out and obviously cold, staring at my empty chair and holding hands when I Apparated in. They both jumped, obviously startled, when I appeared and I could see his hand tightening on hers. That was the first place I looked at—their hands. 

It was the first place I looked and that obnoxious taste was in my mouth again. 

And then I knew.

I knew what was going on.

I knew what was going on even if they didn’t and I knew I had to do something about it before I lost them entirely for good. 

_Forgive me_ , I choked, stumbling back a few places and damned near tripping over the broom polishing kit that Harry’d never put away after he got it out a few days earlier to tend to his Firebolt.

Harry didn’t say anything, just kind of looked from me to Hermione and back again. Hermione’s brow crinkled up for a split second and then her eyes narrowed, which meant I was either in for it or she was just going to study me and try to figure out what was going on in my head. _For what?_ she finally asked, after a long sodding moment of uncomfortable silence. 

_For what I have to do_ , I croaked. I know I croaked. It took me forever to get the words out on account of the huge lump in my throat I had to keep swallowing against.

Letting go of Hermione’s hand, Harry stood up and walked over to me, tilting his head back and staring right up at me. Merlin, I wish he hadn’t done that. I wish he hadn’t; it made everything that much fucking _harder_ , as if it wasn’t hard enough already. _And what_ , he asked, those green eyes I could always get lost in flashing, _do you have to do, Ron?_

Fuck.

My knees began to buckle but somehow I managed to stay upright. Shaking my head, I backed up even more, stopping only when I bumped up against the settee. I could hear Hermione begin to yammer at me, her voice breaking, but I have absolutely no idea what she was saying. She knew and that’s all that mattered.

Harry, on the other hand, either didn’t know or _did_ and wanted me to say it. He just kept following me over to the settee, his jaw set as he asked me over and over again just what did I have to do.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I had to get out of there.

_I have to leave_ , I whispered, looking hard into Harry’s eyes one last time before Disapparating with a pop.

That was a couple of days ago. 

I haven’t been back since. 

I’ve been staying in a room above the Leaky Cauldron trying to get my fucking wits about me. I have to do it. 

I have to tell them.

I have to tell them before it destroys us all.

I’m jealous of them.

I’m jealous of them and I can’t be with them right now.

I just cannot do it.

If I stay with them, if I stay part of us while I feel so fucking jealous and I can’t think of anything but their hands and the way she moans his name, I’ll ruin everything.

I’ll ruin everything and there won’t be a friendship between the three of us anymore, let alone a relationship.

Hedwig and Pig have been bringing me owls every bloody day since I Disapparated from Ottery St Catchpole.

I haven’t sent them back with anything.

I don’t know if writing it down will make it any better or if I can say what all I need to say in a post.

I have to see them face to face, look them in the eye, make them understand….

Make them understand that I’m doing this because I love them.

I’m not doing this for any other reason than love.

I fucking love them both. They’re the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I breathe, the reason…

They’re my _heart_.

They’re my heart and it’s breaking right now and I can’t fucking have that. I need out. 

I need time. Merlin, I just need time to work out this jealousy thing ’cos I cannot go on like this. It’s hell being away from them and it’s hell being around them when I feel so damned petty. 

Petty. I’m definitely being petty. 

They’ve no clue why I’ve gone away and won’t return their owls. They at least deserve an explanation.

Okay.

I’m going to do it. I am.

Don’t wait up for me.


End file.
